


Call it Dreaming

by Akii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Epiphanies, Fluff, Forgiveness, Healing, M/M, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17804021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akii/pseuds/Akii
Summary: Where the sun isn't only sinking fastEvery night knows how long it's supposed to lastWhere the time of our lives is all we haveAnd we get a chance to sayBefore we ease awayFor all the love you've left behindYou can have mine(14x13 - Lebanon)





	Call it Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the last episode, and this song by Iron & Wine  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXC80ZXQhvQ 
> 
> (and the fact I'm a big sap)
> 
> A little bit OOC but I'm a sucker for declarations of love.

About an hour ago, Sam came into Dean's room, toe walking like a giant toddler who doesn't want to wake mom. Can't sleep he said. Damn if that doesn't bring back memories of all the times he sneaked out of his room. Of course, Dean wasn't sleeping either. He could still feel his father's embrace, hear his voice and these words he had been dying to hear. Was it even his father he spoke to? That John looked so much older than the one he remembered. Even their alternate versions didn't make sense. If Yellow Eyes hadn't snatched Sam, Sammy would have married Jessica and by now... By now... Sam's hand was now resting on his heart, and he could feel his nose gently brushing the back of his neck. He was enveloped with warmth and a thousand of unspoken words. 

After John left, they remained, all three of them, standing awkwardly for about a minute. Silent tears falling down. Listening to the silence, to the crushing void that was John's absence. Mary was the first to leave the scene, whispering a strangled "good night" before heading to her room. Every step she tool felt like she was walking right on his chest, right on his heart. He had always thought he was like his father, turned out, he was much more like Mary, they both mastered the art of shutting down like clams, and had a special talent to bury sadness somewhere deep, deep inside themselves. 

Sam presses a kiss on his shoulder, and pulls him closer. Something's bothering him. Dean can also feel it in his breathing pattern. He's this close to crying. And trying his best not to. Dean turns around and kisses his forehead. 

\- Tell me.

He says, kissing him again. Sam mumbles a not very convincing "what" and Dean insists

\- What you wanna tell me.

He can't see Sam's face, but he reaches for it, lightly touching Sam's cheek with the tip of his fingers. It's wet. Dean gently wipes it.

\- I know Sammy, I know.

It must have been so hard for him. All these memories coming back up. At least, meeting John again, whoever this John was, close enough to the man he knew anyway, gave him some closure. There is a wound inside of himself, a dark pit, that is finally gone. He saw his parents together, he saw how they loved each other. He had the chance to share a meal with his whole family. An 33 year old dream. So he's not sad. He's not. He's not the kid who would have died for his father's approval anymore. Everything feels somehow right.

Everything he did, all his mistakes, the terrible and the glorious ones, he owns them. He's got this weird, sublime life, always on the verge of catastrophe, and he is... content. 

\- It doesn't change anything for you, it doesn't change the way he treated you.

He feels Sam getting tense under his touch.

\- It doesn't change our childhood.

Sam gets even closer, and just like when he was very small, hides his face in Dean's neck, as if to say yes, yes you understand. Dean pets his hair for a minute, the time for Sam to relax, for his breathing to even out. They've been in this position so many times, since they were kids. Conjoined twins. Not knowing, in the dark, when his body finished and Sam's began. How did it start between them? It doesn't really matter, does it? Soulmates, Ash said. Born as brothers because Chuck is a dumb fuck. Or maybe because he knew that's a bond no one can break.

\- I realized one thing though, Sammy. I let him go. A long time ago. The pearl just gave me peace

Eyes wide open, staring at the dark he can finally let go of some things he's always wanted to say. 

\- There's one person, only one person in this life, that I can't let go off. And that's you. That's always been you. There is no reality, no alternate world, no dimension, when there is a me and no you. Even if you'd turned into a boring kale eater, I would have found you. I would have brought you back home.

Sam chuckles. Good. After all, Dean owes to him his talent for being a big goof when he wants to. Sam was always a sad kid.

\- I would have found you, and I will find you always. 

He feels Sam's hand reaching out for his face, pulling him into a kiss that tastes like longing and loneliness. Heaven and Hell know. Friends and family don't, and can't. They were both tortured over it. Endlessly. Mercilessly. Dean quite literally. 

- Do you think he knew?

Says Sam, an inch from Dean's mouth. 

\- Do you think he knew and that's why he hated...

Dean kisses him again.

\- I don't care Sammy. I don't care anymore. You were right before, you know? When you asked me to believe in us. I do. I do.

Sam breaks down crying and Dean pulls him into a hug.

\- Sam you've given me so much, so much... 

He's grateful. Grateful for all the times he died, all the times his heart broke, all the times he lost hope, all the times he's gotten caught in a storm. He's grateful for the fights, for the blood poured, for the blood drawn. For the angels, and demons, and creatures, and cases. For the countless motels and all the nights spent sleeping in the car or watching the stars. He's grateful because Sam was there. Because all this, all this pain that could be painted black and told like a Grecian tragedy is the life he chose. It's tragic, it may end in a box at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean but it's more beautiful than any suburban tale.

His father's dream isn't his. He doesn't dream of white picket fences.

\- No pearl would make me trade this, trade us, who we are right here, right now, for anything else.

He knows it now.

\- This, this is the dream.


End file.
